We Can't Always Forget
by DobbyLovesSocks
Summary: "Just because the war is over doesn't mean it never happened. And that's the problem."


**For ****AStitchedUpHeart****'s Eggheads Competition, using the prompts: Character:** Bill Weasley, **Emotion: **Giddiness, **Dialogue: **'You cannot be serious?', **Setting: **Diagon Alley, **Object: **Book

**Also for First Aid (angst) on Camp Potter, using the prompts: **tremble / in the shadows / fragile.

**Thanks to Paula (Exceeds Expectations) for betaing!**

**Word Count: 1046**

* * *

"When a war ends, what does that look like, exactly? Do the cells in the body stop detonating themselves? Does the orphanage stop crying for its mother? ...If you told her the war was over, do you think she could sleep?"

-Andrea Gibson, Sleeping

* * *

He can't stop trembling. Every time he does, he sees his brother's smiling face and his stomach drops as he's forced to _remember_.

It shouldn't have been Fred. Because in losing Fred, they also lost George, and Bill knows that the family can't take that. Hell, _he_ can't take that. He should have been happy; he was newly married to the woman he loves, with a wonderful little house. For a few months, maybe even just a few days, he had been just about giddy. Everything was going just as planned, and it was almost possible to forget about the slowly developing war.

Almost.

But the giddiness of an upcoming wedding was soon ruined when everything began to happen at once. Mad-Eye Moody was dead. The wedding was ruined. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were who-knows-where. And Ginny was at Hogwarts, which was the most dangerous it had ever been.

The rest of the year had gone by in a blur until he found himself standing in the middle of what used to be his school, attempting _murder_ on almost every man he saw. This is what it had come down to.

And now, he's standing in the shadows of Flourish and Blotts, trying to keep himself from shaking as he looks through the rows and rows of books, trying not to tremble from everything so _old_ in a life so new. A brand new life that Bill isn't sure he likes.

He finds a book called _Three Hundred Spells to Get You Smiling_ and slaps some money onto the front counter. He takes it to the Burrow, opens to page one, and slams it shut again.

Tears begin to spill down his cheeks and he tries to wipe them away so his family doesn't notice. But it's the Burrow, so of course, they do. After a few minutes, his mother hears him and comes into the room, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looks into her bloodshot eyes.

"What?" he whispers.

"Bill, love," she says, her own eyes filling with tears. "The war is _over._ We lost so much, but... Do you think it was worth everything we gained?" A sob escapes her as Bill turns on her angrily.

"You _cannot_ be serious," he says dully. "Yes, Mum, the war is 'over,' but does that make a difference? Does that bring Fred back to life? Does that make me any less of a murderer? No, I didn't think so. Just because the war is _over_ doesn't mean it never happened. And that's the problem."

Molly stares at him for a moment before turning and walking out of the kitchen, tears silently streaming down her face. Bill almost can't hear her as she whispers- nearly involuntarily- "_You're not supposed to be the fragile one."_

Bill turns on his heel and runs.

He's the oldest of seven. He was in the Order long before any of his other siblings. He's been attacked by a werewolf and lives to tell the tale... and he doesn't even transform at the moon.

For as long as he can remember, he's been the strong one, the older brother who was there for everyone else. And now, for the first time, he needs to be the fragile one- the one who's still falling apart when everyone else is beginning to piece themselves back together. And apparently, this isn't allowed. Apparently, it's time to start getting over things, and Bill isn't ready.

After a few minutes, he realises he's still running. From what, he doesn't know exactly, but after a while, he can't run anymore and he collapses in the dirt under a tree.

"Hey."

"AARGH!" Bill shouts, nearly jumping to his feet. "Who- _George?"_ he asks incredulously, looking up at the tree's branches. His brother nods, red hair slightly obstructing his face.

"I've been up here for hours," he says quietly. "Needed to... get away for a bit."

He knows it's wrong, but Bill can't help himself from asking, "So you're not over things yet, either?'

"Of _course_ I'm not 'over things,'" he snaps furiously, "What did you expect? I lost my _twin_ in that war, Bill. I lost... I lost a hell of a lot more than you know, and I'm not getting 'over' the war anytime soon."

"No, Georgie, I didn't mean-" Bill breaks off, shaking his head. "No, George. I'm not over things, either, you know. Mum and I just had a bit of a row over it, to be honest. She thinks that we gained a lot in winning the war, but I don't think that's any reason for not still being upset over what we lost, you know?" George nods, his face suddenly turning dark.

"Charlie says we'll have amazing stories to tell our kids, you know. He says that the kids will love hearing about how we fought in the Order, and of _course_ the fucking glory will be the best part. _Glory,_ Bill, that's how they see it. They don't see it as someone being murdered in cold blood, they see it as... As just another game. I don't think I _want_ my kids to hear this, Bill. I don't want them to... to try and make Fred's death into some amazing story, instead of what it really was."

Bill hesitates for a moment before responding.

"Some memories," he says slowly, "are great stories to tell. But others are things we'd all do best forgetting."

"And then there are some that make for terrible stories, and we all want to forget," George whispers. "But we can't."

Really, that's what the war was. A terrible story that has to plague their minds forever.

"They're only getting over it because they're _forgetting!"_ George cries angrily. "Me? I still see his face every night when I'm trying to fall asleep. I still remember the first time I saw him after..." He chokes back a sob. "Trust me. If they saw what I did, they wouldn't be recovering so fast. I can try to forget, Bill, but I don't think I ever will. No matter how hard I try."

"Some stories are better off forgotten," Bill says again, "But a lot of the time, those are the ones you just can't forget."

And they never do.


End file.
